


the friendship hotline (we aim to please)

by clio



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Very slight crossover, lots of friendship feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:38:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4171473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio/pseuds/clio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jinwoo gets a wink and the number to the Friendship Hotline from his well-meaning roommate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the friendship hotline (we aim to please)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rainingover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainingover/gifts).



Mino tosses a slightly used, crinkled napkin onto his roommate's desk as he makes his way out of the dorm room he shares with Jinwoo, backpack casually slung over his shoulder.

“What’s this?” Jinwoo asks, pausing from his homework and eyeing the mustard-stained napkin. A local phone number, hastily scribbled down in Mino’s messy scrawl, accompanies words inked in black marker.

_The Friendship Hotline ;)_

__

__

“If you get lonely or whatever, and want a friend,” the taller boy begins, and Jinwoo finds himself puzzled by the wink Mino shoots his way, “give it a go.”

“I have friends!” He yells defensively at Mino’s departing back, the door closing resolutely behind Mino his only answer.

 _I have friends_ , Jinwoo repeats once he’s alone, voice only slightly petulant in his ears. Frowning, he pushes the napkin off his books and into the corner of his desk with the tip of his pen. He understands what Mino is trying to do, but honestly, he’s totally fine and not at all in need of companionship. Just because his best friend, with whom Jinwoo might be just a little bit in love, upped and got himself a _relationship_ , all but abandoning him and turning his back on all their years of friendship, didn’t mean he was _lonely_. Song Minho had it all wrong. He is totally fine. He has other friends, like Mino for instance, and all the other kids in his sociology program.

He _has_ friends. Dismissing Mino’s well-meaning but wholly misplaced token of concern, Jinwoo pulls his headphones back on, returning to his statistics assignment.

 

 

 

3 hours later finds Jinwoo all finished with his homework for the day, lounging on his bed, laptop streaming the latest episode of his favorite drama of the moment. Usually the heart stopping, will-they-wont-they moments between the drama’s leads would be enough to keep Jinwoo entertained for the rest of the evening, but tonight he finds himself completely distracted. More often than not, he finds his eyes drifting from the blushing face of the female actress on his screen to the crumpled napkin still lying on his desk.

With a frustrated grunt, he shuts his laptop and stares at the napkin, feeling ridiculous that he’s even considering calling a friendship hotline. He was a likeable guy. He’d even venture to say that he was popular among his peers. Given his natural propensity to be kind and smile at everyone, his unassuming nature and large eyes, which Mino has often said make him look _as innocent as that Disney deer_ , it wasn’t difficult for Jinwoo to make friends. Although, admittedly, Jinwoo hadn’t made much effort to make many close friends—why bother when it had always been _Jinwoo and Seungyoon, Seungyoon and Jinwoo_? And he had thought, quite naively, that it would always be _Jinwoo and Seungyoon_. He had always floated in a sea of acquaintances and likeable enough friends, but his beacon and anchor was the boy with chipped black nail polish and a voice that would draw him in and keep him steady amidst the storm-tossed waves.

So maybe he was just a little bit lonely and in need of a friend.

Fingering the napkin and cursing Song Minho all the while, Jinwoo pulls out his phone, punching in the number with more confidence than he feels. Ignoring the thumping of his heart against his rib cage, he accepts the terms of the call and waits for the line to connect. He wipes his palms on his jeans.

_This is Seunghoon, how may I please you?_

Jinwoo sputters because he was imagining a call center full of people with sunny voices that spewed rainbows—not this, this, this voice that dripped sex, rough and deep and sensual.

“H-hello?” he finally manages, wincing because of course his voice would take this opportunity to crack. “Is this the ‘Friendship Hotline’?”

Even the chuckle in his ear somehow sounds inappropriate. “Of sorts.”

 _Huh_? He stands up, starts pacing the length of the room, which, thanks to the generosity of university housing, is all of four steps before he has to turn back around. “Um…I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before.”

“I figured.” Jinwoo can detect humor in the stranger’s voice. “What’s your name?”

“Jinwoo,” he says without hesitation. “You can call me Jinwoo.”

“Nice name,” the voice breathes and Jinwoo finds himself blushing. “Don’t worry, Jinwoo. This will be painless. I _promise_. ”

He ignores the way the voice practically purrs, dripping through the receiver. Jinwoo, instead, clears his throat. “So, how does this work? Do I just start talking to you?”

“Exactly. Don’t be nervous or shy. Remember, I’m here for your comfort.”

Jinwoo pauses in his pacing, considering where he should begin. His nervousness somewhat dissipated, transformed into a high that surges through his body and brings a smile to his face. “Well, I guess I’m calling because of my friend.”

He can hear the stranger’s voice hum on the line. “Ah, okay. Your _friend_. Tell me, what is this friend of yours like?”

Jinwoo furrows his brow, confused about the stranger’s question. “I mean, he’s my best friend, my closest friend, and he recently got into a relationship—his first. It’s been a big adjustment for our friendship.”

“I see. Does he need to be punished?”

“Well…no, I wouldn’t take it that far.” Jinwoo stops his pacing and sits on the edge of his bed, tongue beginning to loosen. “But I guess I’ve just been having a hard time with it, you know, because we used to do everything together. I should have known this was going to happen when he started that new band and kept talking about their rapper…that Zico guy.”

“Poor Jinwoo. I’m here to make everything better.” The stranger’s voice is back to doing that breathy thing again. Jinwoo pulls at his collar.

“Hey, what’s your name again?”

“What do you want it to be?”

“Um, whatever your name is?”

The voice laughs, this time throaty and tumbling. “Seunghoon.”

“Alright, Seunghoon,” Jinwoo sits back on his bed, getting comfortable against his many pillows. “So then my roommate, Mino, gave me this number. He’s been going on and on about how I don’t leave the room unless it’s for class or to eat in the cafeteria. I have friends, you know, but I just haven’t felt like seeing people.”

“Where are you now, Jinwoo?”

“I’m in my room, of course.”

“Are you alone?”

He nods before realizing that Seunghoon can’t see him. “Yes, Mino has night classes.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Uh, jeans and a grey hoodie?”

“Sexy,” Seunghoon replies and Jinwoo chokes on air. Glancing down at his attire, Jinwoo feels the farthest from sexy. He’s pretty sure his hoodie hasn’t been washed in a week and he can’t even remember the last time his jeans were anywhere near water. But Seunghoon isn’t done saying weird things. “What would we do if I were there?”

“Huh?”

“What would we do if I were with your right now?” Seunghoon repeats, slower, and deeper. “Tell me, Jinwoo.”

“I-I guess we could watch a drama,” Jinwoo sputters, feeling warm suddenly. His fingers find the strings of his hoodie, wrapping around them endlessly in newfound nervousness. Seunghoon’s voice is affecting him in ways he isn’t used to, and that makes him uneasy. “I’ve been watching the new Kim Woo Bin one and—”

“Where would we watch it?”

He swallows, eyes darting around the cramped space. Their dorm rooms doubled as sleeping and living spaces, and it wasn’t unusual for friends to pile on each other’s beds to watch TV or play video games, but for some reason the answer in his throat feels unusually intimate. “On my bed, I guess.”

“And then what?”

“Um, I don’t know, I guess we could go eat afterwards,” he throws out, his brain finding it difficult to answer Seunghoon’s odd questions. “You know, normal friend things.”

“What if I don’t want food?”

“Yeah, the cafeteria food is pretty bad. It’s enough to make you lose your appetite sometimes—”

“I _am_ hungry,” Seunghoon cuts in. “But not for food.”

“…What would you want then?”

“Something sweeter,” Seunghoon hints. Jinwoo has to unzip his hoodie because it has become really warm in his room. “Jinwoo?” he coos when Jinwoo doesn’t say anything.

“Yes?”

“What would happen if, while we’re watching that drama on your bed, I leaned over and kissed you?” Seunghoon’s voice dips even lower. “What would you do then?”

And just like that, Jinwoo’s brain short circuits, stops working altogether. He sits there, slack jawed, fingers curled around the strings of his hoodie, face aflame.

“What would you do,” Seunghoon continues in husky voice that sends shivers to Jinwoo’s spine, “if I sat on your lap and kissed your neck, gave you all these pretty little marks?”

Jinwoo gasps, and it is all he can do to grip his phone and breathe while Seunghoon practically moans all these highly provocative scenarios in his ear.

“Are you touching yourself, Jinwoo?”

And that is what snaps Jinwoo out of his daze “What?” he squeaks.

“Is your hand fondling—”

“Oh my—stop!” Jinwoo yells into the phone to drown out the end of Seunghoon’s question. He is up and pacing the tiniest, most frantic circle in his room. “Stop! Stop! Seunghoon, cut it out!” he cries.

Only when he hears silence on the other end of the line does Jinwoo stop pacing. His heart is still beating erratically and he tries to calm his breath. “Seriously, what are you trying to do?” He’s not even going to try and pretend that he’s not freaking out.

“Jinwoo.” He’s momentarily caught off guard by how different Seunghoon sounds. His voice sounds higher, clearer, and is slightly accented—nothing at all like the sensual voice from moments ago. “Why did you call this number?”

His tone is inquisitive, curious—like a child—and Jinwoo struggles with such drastic moods. Feeling confused, he palms his face. “I don’t know,” he replies. “It’s not every day your oldest friend, your best friend, is too wrapped up in his new boyfriend to give you the time of day, and… I thought, at least I could _talk_ to someone maybe—”

“You called this number just to talk about your lost friendship?”

Jinwoo flushes, because when put like that, he can’t help but feel small and foolish. “It’s stupid,” he blurts. He’s beyond embarrassed and, truth be told, a bit disappointed, and he just wants to hang up. “This whole thing is stupid. I-I don’t know why I thought I could make a friend by calling a friendship hotline. I—”

“So you weren’t kidding when you said you were looking for the friendship hotline,” Seunghoon mumbles into the line before sighing. “Look, Jinwoo, I don’t know what your friend told you, but this is a sex hotline.”

“A sex hotline?”

“A sex hotline.”

Jinwoo falls back onto the edge of his bed. _Oh. ___

“I prefer to call it an _adult services experience_ , but there you have it.”

He is going to kill Song Minho. He is also aware that his whole face is bright red, if the burning of his skin is any indication, and he is, at least, grateful that no one is around to bear witness to his mortification. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know—I-I don’t—I mean I can’t—do this.”

“I understand,” Seunghoon laughs, easy and bright, and so different from the throaty laugh of minutes ago. “It’s not for everyone. Sorry about, well, trying to seduce you. Just doing my job!”

Momentarily struck by how quickly Seunghoon can turn on and off his art of seduction, and maybe just a little impressed, Jinwoo finds it in him to be just a little less embarrassed. “It’s fine, this whole thing was a big misunderstanding,” he chuckles.

“Hey Jinwoo?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you’re still going to get charged for his call regardless, so I might as well make it worth your money…and time.”

“Um—”

Seunghoon laughs again. “Not like that. I mean, you can talk to me. You called to talk to a friend, right? Well, I can be your friend. Your phone-a-friend.”

“I…really?”

“Sure. I know it may not seem like it, but I’m a really great listener,” he chuckles into the phone. “It kind of goes with the job.” Sensing Jinwoo’s hesitation, he presses, “It might be useful, you know, to get whatever it is off your chest. I’m a completely impartial audience. And besides, isn’t this why you called in the first place?”

Jinwoo flops back onto his bed, knowing that he’s on the verge of giving in. Still somewhat reluctant and shy, because as mortifying as it was to call into an adult hotline under the illusion of it being a platonic one, it was all the worse to prolong that torture. And yet there was something in Seunghoon’s voice—his real one—that made Jinwoo feel comfortable and lower his defenses.

“Like I said, my best friend—his name is Seungyoon, by the way...”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re in love with him,” Seunghoon states quietly. “With Seungyoon.”

The line is silent as the truth of that statement reaches past all the static between them and wraps around the caller.

“Yes,” Jinwoo breathes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jinwoo ends the call 45 minutes later, a few thousand won poorer, but with a smile on his face and Seunghoon’s operator number scribbled on a post-it note with the invitation to call _whenever!_ It was a nice gesture, sweet even, but Jinwoo doesn’t think he’ll be taking Seunghoon up on his offer any time soon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next time he calls, he’s alone in his dormitory room once again (Mino is off to play basketball as he always does on Thursdays) and upset because he was _supposed to_ hang out with Seungyoon that evening. He had been looking forward to it the whole week, his anticipation left him giddy with even more smiles than usual to level at strangers as he walked to class, as he ordered his coffee at his usual stand, as he welcomed visitors during his shift at the counseling center—that is, until he received last minute heartbreak by means of a message that popped up on his phone.

_hey I can’t make it tonight:( I’m sorry but we’ve got a big gig coming up and we need the extra practice. Next time, I promise!_

Of course.

Flopping onto his bed, Jinwoo stares up at his ceiling, unexpectedly finding himself back in his room with nothing to do to kill the time. He is somehow less enthusiastic for yet another lonely night of drama watching, Kim Woo Bin on his screen or not. A quick glance at textbooks stacked in a neat pile puts him off studying for the night, his economics homework holding even less appeal than usual. Pulling out his phone and swallowing some pride, he shoots off a couple messages, hoping to catch some kind soul or, at the very least, a pity invite.

Rolling onto his stomach and burying his head into his pillow, there is nothing left to do but hope that someone will have compassion on his lonely state. The passing minutes of silence find Jinwoo considering the post-it note taped to his bulletin board. He drums his fingers on his stomach before sitting up, snatching the note, and calling the number.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Seunghoon speaking, I aim to please._

“H-hey, it’s me again. Jinwoo. From last week?”

“Oh, _Jinwoo!_ ” Seunghoon laughs, his voice devoid of the huskiness with which he answered the call, and Jinwoo finds himself smiling at the sound of Seunghoon’s real voice. “I was wondering when I’d hear from you again…”

 

 

 

They talk for 20 minutes before his co-worker and maybe friend (Jinwoo is unsure), Taehyun, messages him back and invites him to movies at his dorm.

Seunghoon sends him off with a good humored, _Play nice with the other kids._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jinwoo soon finds out that Seunghoon has a quick mind, a peculiar propensity to tease, and an unusual affinity towards all things of the classical mythology persuasion. He is constantly touting facts and references about Greco-Roman gods and goddesses and delighting in the foils of epic heroes—all of which go straight over Jinwoo’s head, but he nonetheless loves hearing Seunghoon spin tales of lost loves, cursed fates, and the inglorious ends of characters that Jinwoo only recognizes in passing, but seem like personal friends to Seunghoon.

And if Jinwoo constantly presses Seunghoon for more stories about Patroclus and Achilles, he swears it is due to his budding curiosity and natural interest, and has nothing to do with the delightful way Seunghoon sighs dreamily before launching into the tragic tale of his most beloved mythological pair.

“Achilles spends most of the Trojan War being a complete ass,” Seunghoon explains. “Yeah, he’s a warrior unlike any on the battlefield, but he’s also the biggest cry baby, throwing tantrums and refusing to fight when things don’t go his way.”

“He sounds charming.”

“But, like, he’s the key, right? The Greeks can’t win the war without him—there’s a prophecy. And so everyone is either dying around him or begging him to fight, but he won’t budge because he has too much anger, too much pride.”

Jinwoo lets out a low whistle. It’s a Tuesday night and he’s lying on his bed, enjoying how animated Seunghoon sounds through the phone. “So tell me again, why do you even like this guy?”

“ _Because_.” And Jinwoo swears he hears Seunghoon’s voice hitch in his throat. “Because of Patroclus. Their bond is the most beautiful relationship in all of Classical myth—don’t let anyone try and tell you different! Through Patroclus we get to see a more tender and affectionate side to Achilles. That he’s not just this angry killing machine blessed by the gods. And then when Patroclus _dies_ —“

And this time Jinwoo knows that Seunghoon’s emotional by the way he breaks off and takes a moment to compose himself. And he thinks it’s altogether too cute how affected Seunghoon is over this story.

“And when Patroclus dies, Achilles is utterly devastated. As he mourns for the loss of his companion, his best friend, his greatest love, we are able to see the depth of his affection—of his very _humanity_ —and it is heart wrenching to witness his immeasurable grief. It is personal. It is raw. It is vulnerable. But it is out of this deep love for Patroclus that Achilles is transformed into a hero.”

Seunghoon sighs, longingly and full of sorrow. “I mean, how fucking heartbreaking is it that his greatest legacy is wrought through the death of the person he loves most in all the worlds?”

Jinwoo nods, understanding the appeal of these kinds of myths. They were like his dramas, only about a billion times more heart wrenching. “Wow, that is pretty sad. Poor guy, I had no idea. When you hear about Achilles, it is all the cool stuff. His fight with the noble Hector. Of course the Trojan horse. All the killing.”

“Yeah,” Seunghoon laughs, more out of embarrassment for his emotional outburst than actual humor. He never meant to wax romantically about the _Iliad_. “I mean, he does all that too. But I’ve always been more fascinated by his relationship with Patroclus. The battles are cool and all, but what makes the _Iliad_ worth reading is how much it can touch you—and nothing is as moving as Patroclus and Achilles.”

Jinwoo smiles. “I wouldn’t have taken you as a romantic, to be honest.”

And this time Seunghoon does let out a peal of laughter. “Why? Because of my line of work where I regularly talk dirty to customers while they finish themselves off?”

Jinwoo flushes, in part because that’s exactly what he had been thinking, and partly because of the image Seunghoon calls to mind. He still isn’t used to how blunt and open Seunghoon is about his job. “Er—that’s not…I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine. I’m usually not one for romance—clearly—but even I have to admit that there’s something in me that finds that kind of defining love appealing.”

“Ah, so you _are_ a romantic,” Jinwoo teases.

Seunghoon hums, “The story of Patroclus and Achilles is bound to make romantics out of all of us.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It doesn’t take long for the calls to progress from bumbling weekly check-ins to nearly daily calls full of humorous anecdotes and embarrassing stories of their pasts. Every so often, they even let slip little intimate details about their private lives. There’s an unspoken rule between Jinwoo and Seunghoon that they won’t talk reveal anything too specific about their identities. Sure, Seunghoon might know Jinwoo’s deepest, darkest secret, but he doesn’t know where Jinwoo goes to school, where he works, or even his age. And Jinwoo can make a lot of assumptions based on what Seunghoon says—youngest child, university student (which makes Jinwoo’s heart skip), a dancer from Busan—and while the lack of specifics could be off-putting to a lot of people, Jinwoo finds it surprisingly exciting. Seunghoon is a complicated and enthralling mystery, one that he finds himself drawn to.

“How are your math skills?” Jinwoo asks a few weeks later after a particularly draining problem set, and Seunghoon’s voice cackles on the other end of the line.

“Non existent,” Seunghoon replies smoothly. “And don’t you _dare_ try to turn this into a homework helpline either.” At Jinwoo’s huff, he adds, “Sorry, lover boy, I can do a lot of things for you, but math is not one of them.”

“Didn’t you just answer the phone saying that _my satisfaction was your pleasure_?”

“I did, and it _is_ … but I don’t think you’re ready,” Seunghoon’s voice lowering, thick and syrupy, seduction on his tongue. _“Yet.”_

Jinwoo gasps and flushes; he hadn’t heard Seunghoon use that voice on him in a while. He shakes his head and changes the subject, convincing himself that Seunghoon’s _not_ flirting with him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jinwoo finds himself talking about Seungyoon less and less as the weeks slip by and the seasons change from Winter to Spring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And eventually Jinwoo stops talking about Seungyoon altogether.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes, when Mino comes back from class early he’ll find Jinwoo on the phone, but as fast as he steps into their room his roommate will say an even faster _goodbye_ to whomever he’s talking with before looking up at him with a wide smile on his innocent face. He’ll be greeted with a chipper, “Hey, Mino, welcome back!”

Other times, when Mino is in the adjoining bathroom, he’ll hear Jinwoo’s muffled voice and barely-there laughter (giggles?) through the thin walls. And when he emerges, steam from his shower curling into their room, Jinwoo will just nod in his direction before grabbing a jacket and _taking his call outside._

It is enough that he finally decides to confront his roommate on his suspicious behavior.

“So, whom are you taking on the phone with when you think I won’t notice?” Mino asks casually while he and Jinwoo sit down in the cafeteria one day.

Jinwoo nearly chokes on his lunch. Mino ends up having to pass him a water bottle and giving him a few hearty pats on the back for good measure.

When Jinwoo is sufficiently recovered, eyes glossy and red and throat a little raw, he notices that Mino is looking at him expectantly from across the table. “Huh?”

“You’re always on the phone with someone.”

“I am?”

“You are. I’m asking you who it is.”

“I have _friends_ , Song Minho,” Jinwoo says a little defensively.

Mino openly rolls his eyes ( _this again_ ). “I know you do. So who is it that you’ve suddenly gotten so close with, talking at all hours of the day? And don’t tell me it is Seungyoon. You never take calls outside of the room if you’re talking to Seungyoon.”

He gapes, mostly because he didn’t think Mino was perceptive enough to notice the phone bill he was running up each month. “You don’t know him,” he shrugs, hoping against hope that it comes off as nonchalance and not some sort of shoulder spasm.

“Okay, so tell me about him.”

“It’s just—it’s nothing,” the older boy says shyly.

“I’m pretty sure it _is_ something if you’re going out of your way to hide it from me and blushing like you’re 12 years old and have a crush for the first time.”

“I’m not hiding anything!” Jinwoo protests. Then, as an afterthought, adds meekly, “And I don’t have a crush.”

After a few more rounds of prodding from Mino, who takes Jinwoo’s reluctance as an indication of his roommate actually wanting to tell Mino everything, Jinwoo finally cracks.

 _Thefriendshiphotline_ , he mumbles into his sandwich.

“Sorry, what was that? I don’t speak deer.”

“I said ‘The Friendship Hotline!’” Jinwoo cries out helplessly, cheeks aflame and hands coming to shield his face, half-eaten sandwich abandoned on his plate.

It’s Mino’s turn to beg for water as he coughs and forces his lunch down his throat. “What?” he screeches.

“You heard me. It was because of your stupid prank,” Jinwoo huffs and pointedly avoids his roommate’s searching gaze, the corners of his mouth slightly turned down. Belatedly, he raises his hand and punches Mino in the arm, although there’s nothing behind it. “That’s for tricking me. Jerk.”

“Are you serious right now?” Mino looks particularly ridiculous with his mouth hanging open. And when Jinwoo nods his head, Mino looks like he’s going to fall out of his chair. “Oh my god!”

“This is all your fault, you know—”

“I can’t believe you’re involved with a…a—”

“If you hadn’t given me that number and—”

“A phone sex operator!”

The color drains from Jinwoo’s face as Mino’s words echo through the cafeteria, the conversations in their surrounding tables dying down in the wake of Mino’s loud outburst. The pair of roommates plaster smiles to their faces and try to laugh off the looks of confusion, amusement, and disgust sent their way by their fellow students.

Jinwoo is sure he’s never felt more mortified in his life.

“I can’t believe that’s how you met your new boyfriend!” Mino whispers before a thought occurs to him, and he visibly shivers. “I don’t even want to know details of how you guys got together.”

“We’re not together, for one, and secondly, nothing happened! We only talk to each other. There’s none of that,” Jinwoo gestures wildly, “funny business.”

“Of course you only talk! That’s how those things work!” Mino exclaims. Groaning, he drops his head into his hands. “This wasn’t supposed to happen! I thought you could use a distraction and, you know, _relieve some tension._ Not get corrupted but some creepy middle-aged man with a fetish for the innocent youth. Our poor Jinwoo!” he wails.

“It’s not like that!” Jinwoo cries, leaning forward and trying to make Mino understand. “We’re…friends.”

“ _Friends_?” Mino spits the word out, face contorting as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “What do you even know about this guy?”

Shifting in his seat, Jinwoo’s eyes fall to the table. “He’s only doing this as a part-time job to pay for his tuition. He—”

“Of _course_ he is.” Mino scoffs, shaking his head. He looks at Jinwoo with pleading eyes, “That’s what they all say.”

“I believe him.”

Mino stares incredulously at his older, dumber, and more naïve roommate. “Let me ask you this, do you pay for every call you make to this guy?”

Squaring his shoulders, Jinwoo doesn’t let his gaze waver as he answers Mino. “Yes,” he replies. “But that doesn’t mean—”

“If you have to pay for his time,” Mino interrupts, his voice surprisingly gentle, “then can you really call yourselves friends?”

 

 

 

The next time he calls the so-called Friendship Hotline, Seunghoon picks up on his somber mood almost immediately.

“Did something happen?” he asks after Jinwoo fails to laugh at yet another one of his most excellent jokes. Jinwoo was always quick to laugh and his conversations with Seunghoon had often left him in stitches. But not today.

“Let’s exchange our phone numbers,” Jinwoo blurts out, sounding harsher and more commanding than he intended, but he doesn’t care because he has something to prove. He _knows_ they’re friends. Mino is wrong about them.

When he’s met with static on the other end of the line, Jinwoo closes his eyes and gathers his courage. “I mean, we’re friends, right? And these calls don’t come cheap, you know,” he tries to joke, but his laugh comes off forced and tense.

After a few more seconds of silence, seconds that pass altogether too slowly, seconds that prick at his skin and fill his chest with dread, Jinwoo prompts the other boy softly. “Seunghoon?”

He hears a sigh come through the line, and he closes his eyes against the sound. It speaks of regret, of disappointment, of rejection. “Look, Jinwoo—”

“Seunghoon, let’s just exchange numbers, okay? It’s not a big deal, right?” His voice cracks with desperation.

“I’m sorry, Jinwoo. I really am, but this is a _hotline._ This is my job.” Seunghoon’s tone is patient and kind, such a contrast from the devastation his words are wreaking on his emotions. On his hopes.

“But—”

“Jinwoo. I sorry.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s the first time Jinwoo hangs up on Seunghoon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t call back the next night. Nor the next. And definitely not the night after. Soon, a whole week has passed since Jinwoo last spoke with Seunghoon, and he didn’t expect to feel his absence so keenly. It seemed impossible to miss a person he had never even met in real life.

After all, they hadn’t even been friends.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Come on, get up.”

“I don’t want to.”

The boy standing across the counter sighs dramatically, runs a hand through his center-parted locks. “Our shift is over. So you can either stay and sit there all unprofessionally,” the boy gestures to Jinwoo’s slouched form with mild horror, “until the center re-opens tomorrow morning, or you can come grab a drink with me.”

Jinwoo perks up at the invitation. Sure, they’re co-workers and maybe friends (Jinwoo can’t tell), and they sometimes play video games together in Taehyun’s dorm, but they’ve never gone for drinks after their shared shifts. “Taehyun?”

Taehyun glances at the non-existent watch on his wrist. “This limited-time offer is ending in 5 seconds, so I suggest you decide quickly. 5… 4… 3…”

“I’ll go! I’ll go!” Jinwoo all but jumps up from his seat, grabing his backpack from under the counter. He notes with some satisfaction the smile tugging at the corners of Taehyun’s lips as he holds the door open for him.

 

 

 

Taehyun brings him to a popular bar for college students—popular because of its cheap drinks, terribly awesome live bands, and stumbling proximity to campus. They find seats at the end of the bar and Taehyun graciously buys his older co-worker-slash-friend his first drink of the night. Jinwoo feels a slight buzz in his veins at being out and about on a school night, surrounded with other young people hoping to escape the stress of school, work, or relationships.

“So, you want to talk about it?” Taehyun turns to him as he rolls up his sleeves.

“Talk about what?” Jinwoo feigns as he brings his drink to his lips.

He sees Taehyun’s eyes roll to the ceiling before meeting his once more. “You out of all people should know that I don’t have the patience for this whole counseling thing, so take advantage of my momentary insanity to solicit my good advice and willingness to actually listen to your problems. And please, can we skip the part where I gently coax the sob story out of you and get to you telling me why you’ve been acting like a kicked puppy for the past week?”

Despite his harsh words, Taehyun is looking at Jinwoo with concern reflecting in his eyes. He may be a bundle of contractions—acting aloof when he clearly cares, trying so hard to project an appearance of unsympathetic indifference but working at a counseling center—but Jinwoo also knows that the younger boy possesses the most sensitive soul he’s ever come across. And that makes him an incredibly sympathetic listener.

“It’s about a boy,” Jinwoo starts, peeling the label off his beer bottle with blunt fingernails.

Taehyun actually smiles, soft, gummy, and encouraging. “I had a feeling,” he says with a knowing nod, settling further into his seat. “Alright, the future Dr. Nam Taehyun is clocked in. Tell me everything.”

 

 

 

To his credit, Taehyun doesn’t seem at all shocked by what Jinwoo reveals. There are no gasps of surprise, no bulging eyes, not even a brow furrowed in concern. He sits patiently, attentively, and listens to everything that spills from Jinwoo’s lips, only occasionally asking a probing question.

“It’s not all that surprising,” Taehyun nods, sipping from the rim of his glass.

Jinwoo, now four beers in, narrows his eyes at the boy sitting next to him who looks a little like a kitten, he realizes belatedly in his alcohol-induced vision. “How so?”

Taehyun’s long fingers tap along the rim of his glass. “I’m saying that it’s exactly like you to fall for a guy you befriended when you mistakenly called an adult hotline,” he nods his head vigorously. “Those situations are specifically set up to create a safe space, and, knowing you, you have no sense of self preservation.”

Jinwoo’s jaw opens and shuts a few times as he searches for words. “I totally do,” he settles on eventually.

“Have you heard of ‘stranger danger’?”

“Um… no?”

“My point exactly,” Taehyun smiles at him fondly, and Jinwoo thinks it must be the effects of alcohol in his system. “You’re the most trusting person _ever_ , and this guy sounds like a professional. Of course you felt comfortable with him. You were in a vulnerable place when you first met him. _Of course_ you ended up having feelings for him.”

Jinwoo nods his head, taking in each word and mulling it over in his mind as he sips from the bottle in his hand. Seunghoon was a professional, as professional as one can be in that kind of work he guesses, and yeah, maybe—he gasps. “Wait, no! I don’t like him like that!”

Taehyun’s mouth twitches. He reaches out and pats Jinwoo on the head. On the head. Like a puppy. “Ah, that’s right. You don’t know that about yourself yet.”

Jinwoo shrugs Taehyun’s arm off him and shoots him his best dirty look, which only makes the other boy laugh aloud. “I said I don’t like him like that.”

“So cute, but so wrong.”

Ignoring the comments, Jinwoo focuses on setting his woefully misguided friend right. “I’m upset and disappointed because of the other things you said. That maybe he was taking advantage of me… And maybe I let him? I thought we were friends, for sure. Oh god,” he groans, cradling his face in his hands. “This is so messed up.”

“Yeah, it kind of is.”

“Thanks, Taehyun, you’re so helpful.”

Taehyun just shakes his head in pity before ordering them another round. “Look, give him one more chance to prove himself. Or, at least, explain himself. If he refuses, then you’ll have your answer. And you’ll be free to hate him as much as you want.”

Their drinks appear before them, and Jinwoo grabs at his like a lifeline. He doesn’t want to talk about Seunghoon anymore. Turning to the boy next to him, he holds his glass up, beer spilling over the edge and down his hand, and he decides then and there to eliminate the uncertainty of their relationship. “To being real friends!” he exclaims happily.

But Taehyun only rolls his eyes again. Still, there’s a smile pulling the corners of his lips up as they clink glasses.

“You’re so lame, Jinwoo.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“But what if he refuses?” Jinwoo laments loudly, hand reaching out to grip Taehyun’s wrist, his large, innocent eyes imploring and wide. It’s past midnight, and by the flushed look on Jinwoo’s face, sluggishness of his gestures, and circular conversation, it’s clear that Jinwoo is well on his way to a massive hang over in the morning. “What am I going to do? I’ll die of embarrassment!”

“I’m pretty sure you won’t. You’ll survive. Everyone always does.”

“No, I won’t Taehyun! You don’t understand! I already feel so dumb. I don’t want to feel cheap and used too!”

“I don’t see why you’re so embarrassed over this when what you _should_ be embarrassed about is that threadbare gray hoodie you wear all the time.”

“Hey,” Jinwoo narrows his eyes again, pushes his finger into Taehyun’s chest ( _ouch_ ). “I’ve had a lot of memories in this hoodie, okay?” He wraps his arms around himself, curls into his chest. “My only and best friend.”

“ _And_ we’re cutting you off.” Taehyun magically produces a bottle of water for Jinwoo and forces it into his hand. “Drink this.”

But Jinwoo isn’t listening, is instead fumbling with his phone, fingers swiping every which way across colorful menus. He settles on a number and dials it, pressing his phone against his ear.

“What are you doing?” Taehyun is already reaching out and making a grab at it. “Whom are you drunk dialing—?!” He manages to pull the phone out of Jinwoo’s grasp just as the line picks up.

“Hello?” A deep voice comes through the phone.

_Shit._

Taehyun shoots Jinwoo a look and prays that he’s spared the experience of getting talked up by some underhanded adult hotline operator. It wasn’t on his list of things to do in his lifetime. “Hi.”

“Who’s this? Where’s Jinwoo?” There’s concern, surprise, in the voice.

“Uh, I’m Taehyun. Jinwoo is here, he’s just—” he glances at the other boy, who seems to be occupied trying to flag down a bartender and exchange his bottle of water for another beer. “He’s a little drunk and called you.”

“ _A little drunk?_ Where is he? Who are you?”

“Relax. I’m a friend. I work with Jinwoo. We went for drinks after our shift,” Taehyun replies as he forces Jinwoo back into his seat, pushes the water bottle into his hand with a firm look, which only earns him an adorable pout for his troubles. “Sorry, who’s this?”

“That’s Mino!” Jinwoo practically yells even though he’s seated close enough that their knees bump into each other with every turn. “That’s the sonuvabitch who gave me the—”

“Song Minho. His roommate. And I’m only a sonuvabitch when Jinwoo’s been drinking.”

“Oh,” Taehyun relaxes, grateful that he’s been spared an awkward conversation with one particular phone sex operator. He glances over at Jinwoo once again, who has gone back to cradling his head in his hands, elbows on the bar, and muttering to himself. “Hey, do you think you can give me a hand here? I think he’s starting to cry, and I don’t do tears.”

Mino laughs, warm and deep, and Taehyun ignores the shiver that runs through his spine. “Sure. Where are you?”

“Do you know the bar, _Aces_?”

Mino hums into the phone. “Yeah, I’m kind of familiar.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(“Jesus, Jinwoo, you look like hell.”

“Oh, it’s the sonuvabitch.” Jinwoo slurs from his seat, eyes thin slits on a red face as he peers up at Mino.

“That’s right, it’s me. Come on, let’s get you home.” Mino bends his knees to hoist Jinwoo up, arm secured around his waist. In the seat next to him, a taller boy has been silently watching the exchange. Mino guesses it’s the guy he spoke to on the phone earlier. “Hey, thanks for staying with him until I could get…"

The boy meets his gaze and gives him a small smile, and it is enough to take Mino’s breath away. "...here,” he finishes lamely.

"Not a problem," the boy replies. He sticks out a hand. “Nice to meet you, by the way. I’m—”

“ _Gorgeous_ ,” Mino supplies, turning on the charm and flashing his billion-watt grin. Jinwoo has been one to call it greasy but Mino _knows_ it’s charming. He grasps Taehyun’s hand in his. “You’re gorgeous and I’m yours.”

It would have maybe worked better if he didn’t currently have a passed out Jinwoo leaning into his side, face crushed into his shoulder, but Song Minho wasn’t one for details.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A few days later and Jinwoo is spending his break between classes lying on the grass in the middle of the campus quad, the warmth of the sun kissing his skin—the promise of warmer days, finally—and toying idly with his phone, flipping through photos, messages, emails.

“I got it,” Mino says as he flops down on the grass next to his roommate.

“Got what?” Jinwoo puts his phone down and rolls onto his back, turning his head towards his friend, who seems to be preoccupied with squeezing in a few minutes of sleep whenever, and wherever, he can. It’s amazing, he thinks, that Mino can look so casual, so unaffected, so carefree when Jinwoo knows he pulls long hours as a pre-med biology major.

“What we’re going to do for your birthday.”

Jinwoo groans, because they’ve gone over this several times already. He doesn’t want to make a big deal about his birthday as he’s not in the most celebratory of moods. But all that means to Mino is that they should do something big and special for his birthday because he is in such a funk. “Whatever party bus you have rented, cancel it. Send back the strippers. And no, we’re not getting matching tattoos.”

Mino pops an eye open. “I’m offended you think so little of me.” Then, “And what’s so wrong with getting matching friendship tattoos?”

“I’m not getting _Minwoo 5eva_ permanently inked on my arm.”

“It was just a suggestion,” Mino protests as he settles back against the grass, eyes closed. “And calm down, I’m not getting you strippers although I think you secretly want them. I was thinking we could just watch that movie you’ve been hounding me about for forever, and then drinks with the rest of your friends. You know, all the boring stuff you love so much.”

Jinwoo perks up, a ready grin on his face. “Really?” But after a moment his face falls into an expression bordering suspicion. “Are you playing with me right now?”

“Nope,” Mino turns to him with a contrite smile. “I kind of feel bad about everything that’s happened. With that Seunghoon guy. It’s my fault…I gave you the number. And I guess I want to make it up to you.”

Touched by the sincerity of his roommate’s words, Jinwoo runs his hands through the blades of grass surrounding them. “It’s not your fault, Mino. You don’t have to make anything up to me.”

“Ah, so you mean we don’t have to watch that Kim Woo Bin movie?” Mino grins, breaking the somber mood that had descended over them. “Awesome, because I was thinking that we could go to that strip—”

“It might not be your fault, Song Minho, but I still haven’t forgiven you for trying to trick me with that hotline to begin with,” Jinwoo shoots back.

“So…I’ll just check show times, then.”

Jinwoo smiles. “I knew you’d come around.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After almost two weeks of no contact, dialing the number feels like the first time all over again. Jinwoo finds himself pacing the length of his dorm room, nervously gripping the strings of his hoodie.

_This is Seunghoon and I’ve been a bad boy._

Jinwoo feels the impact of Seunghoon’s voice like a punch to the gut. He hates the quickening pace of his heart, the absence of words on his tongue even though he’d spent the last half hour rehearsing exactly what he was going to say.

_Hello?_

“Hi. It’s me… Jinwoo.” He adds and silently congratulates himself for being able to say that much.

“Jinwoo,” Seunghoon breathes his name, surprise and relief evident in his voice. “Hi. I’m glad you called. How have you been?”

“Good. I, uh—I just wanted to tell you that it’s my birthday this week. On Friday. We’re going to celebrate by getting drinks at _Aces_ on University. Nothing fancy… but all of my _friends_ are invited,” Jinwoo stresses and the challenge is there. This is the second chance for Seunghoon to prove to him that he isn’t just a paycheck.

Seunghoon must have been really taken aback, understanding the implied meaning behind the invitation, because the boy remains silent on the line, giving Jinwoo the feeling of déjà vu. He tries not to let it discourage him.

“You should come. 9 pm. I’ll probably be the most embarrassing person there,” he laughs nervously. “And you don’t want to miss that.”

This time Jinwoo hears Seunghoon sigh. “Jinwoo…”

“Anyway, I have to go, so…see you then!” He finishes with forced cheerfulness and, with that, Jinwoo hangs up and practically throws his phone across the room, the object ending up somewhere between Mino’s hamper and his desk. Flinging himself on his bed, Jinwoo buries his face in his pillow, stifling his cries of his embarrassment amidst his flailing limbs.

That’s how Mino finds him when he returns to the room. “What did that pillow ever do to you?” he smirks.

He ends up dodging the pillow aimed for his face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mino spends Jinwoo’s birthday catering to the older boy’s every whim and teenage fancy. He pulls Jinwoo out of their room two hours before the movie starts and brings him across town, to an aquarium because he knows that sometimes Jinwoo gets homesick. And Mino will never admit it, but the movie wasn’t half as bad as he thought it would be. It’s all worth it to see Jinwoo walking out of the theatre on cloud nine, Kim Woo Bin’s face reflecting in his eyes.

It goes without saying that by the time the roommates find themselves at the bar, Jinwoo’s happiness can barely be suppressed. The moment they step into Aces, Jinwoo is immediately enveloped in a flurry of hugs, smiles, and claps on the back. A childish party hat is slipped on his head, drinks are passed between hands, in between laughs, and in so much good cheer that for the first time in a while, Jinwoo moves with ease in a crowd, his mood infectious and dazzling everyone in the cramped space.

Surrounded by old friends, classmates, and co-workers, Jinwoo is only vaguely aware that Seunghoon could very well be in the same room.

 

 

 

“Think that’s him?”

“I have no idea.”

“Ugh, let’s _hope_ he’s not that guy,” Mino grimaces as scans the crowd once more. He nods at someone in the distance, “What about him?” But Jinwoo is far too short to see over the heads creating an impenetrable wall in front of him.

“Will you _please_ cut it out?” he pleads, having long regretted telling his roommate that he had casually invited Seunghoon out to his birthday celebration. “If he shows up, great. If he doesn’t, well... but I don’t want to think about it too much. It’s been so long since I’ve seen everyone, I just want to enjoy it.”

“But isn’t it exciting?” Mino’s eyes are sparkling, either from the suspense or the two beers he’s had, or maybe even both. “He could be anyone! He could be the next guy who talks to you. He could be—”

“Birthday boy!”

Arms come around Jinwoo’s shoulders, pulling him close against a tall chest for a moment. “Here you are.” Jinwoo’s heart rate spikes, but then Taehyun’s face comes into view, an actual grin pressed on his face. “Happy Birthday Jinwoo!”

“Thanks Taehyun! I’m glad—“ Jinwoo is interrupted when Song Minho abruptly (and rudely, he thinks) inserts himself in the tiny space between the co-workers, nearly pushing Jinwoo aside.

“We meet again!” Mino says as he delivers a drink into Taehyun’s empty hand, charming smile on full display.

“Oh, hey, it’s you. The roommate.” Taehyun smiles thankfully and sips from the cocktail straw. “Mino, right?”

If possible, Mino’s smile widens, and Jinwoo has to suppress the urge to throw up. Smirking knowingly, he turns to leave his two friends to their own devices, his presence clearly unneeded, and, in the case of one, undesired.

“Jinwoo! Hey Kim Jinwoo!”

He hears a voice call out for him in the crowd—a voice that he would recognize anywhere. His body tenses when he sees Seungyoon making his way over to their little circle, one hand waving frantically over the crowd, the other wrapped securely in a blonde boy’s palm.

Seungyoon practically flings his arms around Jinwoo, pulling him up into the tightest hug, his toes scraping against the floor. “Happy birthday! Cute hat, by the way.”

“Hey,” Jinwoo smiles tightly, searching for words other than the ones that float to the surface. “I-I didn’t know if you were coming…”

Seungyoon is the first to pull back, lowers Jinwoo steadily back to the ground. “Of course I’d come. I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” and the way he is looking at Jinwoo is so sweet and honest, and Jinwoo feels that it’s all so unfair. “Woo, you remember Zico…”

He nods at the guy standing just beyond Seungyoon’s shoulder. “Right! Hey! Thanks for coming.”

“Happy birthday,” the blonde boy says as he holds out a poorly wrapped present in his hand. “This is for you.”

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting—thank you.” Jinwoo puts a smile on his face, only he realizes belatedly that he’s doing a poor job of it, feels his lips waver in the same way he eyes are swimming, and it is altogether much too late when Seungyoon steps closer, housing him protectively in his arms and shielding him from curious eyes. Gently, Seungyoon guides him out the backdoor, away from the wafting smoke and the press of bodies and into the crisp night air.

Jinwoo pulls himself out of Seungyoon’s embrace then, takes a few distancing steps away and concentrates on steadying his heart, on evening out his breaths, on drying his eyes. But most of all, he concentrates on fixing his features so they don’t betray him when he has to turn around and face the scrutiny of his oldest friend. He pulls off his party hat, takes note of the childish characters grinning back at him.

“What’s going on, Jinwoo?”

It takes Jinwoo seconds before he’s able to find words. Turning around, he plasters an embarrassed grin on his face. “Nothing, really. I was just overwhelmed, I guess. It’s silly, but I’m alright now.” He hopes he sounds casual and unaffected, like it hasn’t been weeks since he’s last heard from, never mind seen, his best friend.

“Cut the bullshit. I can always tell when you’re hiding something.” And it’s amazing, Jinwoo thinks, how Seungyoon can just barge back into his life so unassumingly, can come to his aid in a crowded bar, taking up space and fitting right back into his life. It really is, so unfair.

They had met as awkward 13 year olds with bad haircuts and greasy faces on the day Seungyoon transferred schools. Their teacher assigned him the desk next to Jinwoo, who was more than happy to show the new boy around campus and let him know which teachers didn’t mind if you took a mid-afternoon nap in their class and which did. It didn’t take long before they were spending weekends at each other’s homes, playing video games until their eyes were red, and gorging on pizza until they were sick.

High school had seen their bodies grow and develop, and one day found Jinwoo realizing that he actually had to look up to meet Seungyoon’s eyes. The weekend sleepovers became fewer in number as they pursued other passions, both separate and together, Seungyoon learning the guitar and Jinwoo found himself spending time with a pretty girl in his class.

But then they became roommates their first two years at university, and grew impossibly close—cramming for exams and projects, running late to class, being each other’s lunch companion and biggest confidant. Jinwoo would help carry equipment when Seungyoon first started busking in the streets surrounding campus, helped sell CDs and t-shirts after their shows. And later, Seungyoon would treat him to dinner and pass him their newest album, and Jinwoo would always be delighted to be mentioned in the _thanks to._

It was with great regret that they separated at the end of the previous school year, with Seungyoon moving in with a couple of guys from his band, and Mino announcing his presence as Jinwoo’s new roommate with a booming, _Ay, yo!_

 

 

 

It was only a couple of weeks before Seungyoon bounded up to him at a party, hand wrapped tightly around Zico’s, and a dopey, blissful grin on his face. True to form, the moment when Seungyoon became unavailable was also they very moment when Jinwoo realized exactly what he had lost.

 

 

 

“We should get back inside. I’m the birthday boy after all,” Jinwoo states for lack of anything else to say. He had waited weeks for this moment, for him to just be with Seungyoon and feel that the world had righted itself again, but now that the moment had come, Jinwoo grasped for words.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on.” Jinwoo insists, glancing again at his friend resting against the wall of the building. “You’re growing out your hair.”

Seungyoon frowns. “It’s for our band’s new concept. And stop trying to change the subject. You’re terrible at it.”

“I wasn’t. I just haven’t seen you in a while.” Jinwoo fidgets, hands pulling at his sleeves and wishing he were in his gray hoodie instead of in the blazer Mino had insisted he wear. Jinwoo tries again. “How’s the band doing?”

“I don’t want to talk about the band, Jinwoo. I want to talk about you.”

“I’m telling you I’m _fine._ ”

“Come on, you know that’s not true! Why are you—”

“Why do you even _care_?” Jinwoo spits and immediately regrets it.

But it is too late to take it back. “What do you mean why do I care? I’m your best friend. Of course I care,” Seungyoon retorts, clearly offended.

“Well you could do a better job of it.” Jinwoo mutters, hand coming up to rub at his forehead in defeat. He feels so tired and hates that it has come to this point.

“You know things are crazy right now, Jinwoo,” Seungyoon says defensively. “The band is really starting to get attention and we’re playing a couple shows a week—which, you know, you _never_ come to—and I barely have time for school or work…”

“You have time for Zico.”

And it’s out there in the open, hanging between the two friends.

Jinwoo is pretty sure he’s dug a grave for his friendship with Seungyoon, has jumped into the pit, and is now burying himself with every word that he mumbles under his breath. Seungyoon’s face twists from one of pleading to one of disbelief, his mouth a firm, harsh line.

“That’s really unfair of you.” Seungyoon speaks quietly, calmly, but Jinwoo picks up on all the minute curls in his speech that belie his hurt, the dips in intonation that reveal his anger. “I thought—I thought you’d be happy for me.”

Seungyoon shakes his head, his voice breaking over his words, “I have a real shot at something great, but you want me to choose between Zico and you. Jinwoo, you’re being so unfair.”

“I’m not making you choose between me and Zico! I’m asking you to make time for me!” Jinwoo cries out, voice pleading. “You’re never around! We hardly ever talk! Do you even know what’s going on in my life?”

Jinwoo can sense the extent of Seungyoon’s protest and hurt in the way he holds himself, the clutching of his fists, the sheen gathering at his friend’s temples. He can also see their years of friendship crumbling before him. His next words are bitter in this throat.

“Are we—are we even friends anymore?”

It is a breathless moment, one that ripples across them in the confines of the alley. Seungyoon looks stricken as he gapes at Jinwoo in utter disbelief. Jinwoo bites his lip and waits, desperately, for his words to be refuted. But there’s nothing but endless silence stretching between them.

Just then, the door next to Seungyoon opens, making Jinwoo jump. Zico’s face pokes through the crack and it only takes a second for him to notice the tension in the air. “Everything okay out here?” he asks carefully as he steps out into the alley to join them.

Seungyoon’s eyes dart to where Jinwoo stands a few feet away, staring pointedly at the ground. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he replies before turning once again to Jinwoo. “I’m a little tired. I think we’ll be leaving now.” Spinning on his heel, Seungyoon doesn’t spare him another glance as he makes his way down the alley towards the main road.

“Uh—happy birthday again, Jinwoo. Sorry we didn’t stay along…” Zico says politely before turning around trying to catch up with his boyfriend. “See you later.”

Jinwoo just waves him off.

“Thanks for coming.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Jinwoo walks back inside, it is to head straight to the bar and order himself a stiff drink. Whatever elated feeling he had at the beginning of the evening has all but dissipated, leaving an aching, empty, terrible feeling in him. But it is his birthday and he’s determined not to let it ruin his night. Stirring his drink, he observes the crowd, party hat firmly in place. Not too far from him, he spies his roommate and his co-worker, chatting animatedly with someone Jinwoo has never seen before.

Eyes raking over the stranger, Jinwoo takes in the toned legs wonderfully shown off in a pair of tailored shorts—an unexpected wardrobe choice but one that he isn’t going to complain about—the tall, thin, but strong frame, the smooth skin and high cheekbones, and the dark, intense eyes staring right back at him.

Feeling heat creep up his neck, Jinwoo turns away and joins a classmate’s conversation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Over the course of the night, Jinwoo often finds himself in the crosshairs of the stranger, their eyes catching across the room, between the conversations and drunken laughter, and Jinwoo always ends up breaking eye contact first. It is a bit disconcerting, the alluring way the stranger’s hair falls over his eyes as he sips from his glass, how Jinwoo keeps getting distracted by a flash of bare leg, and how Jinwoo’s pulse races with each fleeting glance. And how the back of his neck burns from the weight of the stranger’s gaze following him as he moves between groups.

He’s standing at a small table full of his program mates who are complaining endlessly about their unfair professor and their latest sociology experiments when he feels someone brush against his elbow. Turning slightly, he is not all that surprised to find the stranger at his side.

What he does find surprising is that the stranger is much taller than Jinwoo realized, having to crane his neck up to meet his gaze. And that the stranger is more handsome up close, a scattering of freckles over his cheeks and a lively expression in his eyes.

He also smells incredible.

Jinwoo opens his mouth to say something—anything, something, _whatever_ —when a classmate literally pulls at his cheek to get his attention and bring him back into their conversation. And when Jinwoo finally turns back around, deciding that he’s never hanging out with these people again, the stranger is gone. Tip-toeing as best he can to see over the heads of the throng of people, Jinwoo only manages to catch the stranger’s fleeting back as he exits the bar.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jinwoo wakes up the next morning in his bed, feeling disgusting and sick to his stomach. His mind glosses over the hurtful words he pressed upon Seungyoon and the crushing rejection he experienced at the hands of someone he barely knew. He pulls his covers over his face, unwilling to face the day and all the regrets he had accumulated over the course of one night.

Jinwoo burrows deeper into his covers and closes his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two days later, Jinwoo knocks on Seungyoon’s door. He’s stunned when Zico answers, eyes wary as he leans his body across the frame like some kind of a club bouncer. Judging by his body language, Jinwoo surmises that Seungyoon’s told him of their fight.

_Their fight._

The words are foreign and unfamiliar and difficult to wrap his mind around. In all their years of friendship, he and Seungyoon have never fought. At least, there hasn’t been a fight that lasted more than an hour and didn’t end up with lollipops in their mouths as they sat shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee on the floor of Jinwoo’s room, video game controllers in their hands as they battled it out virtually to resolve their problems, eventually collapsing on a each other, grins on their faces and their friendship restored.

“Hey,” Jinwoo grips the straps of his backpack tighter. “Is Seungyoon home?”

Whatever reply is poised on Zico’s lips is silenced by Seungyoon appearing from the depths of the apartment. “Who is it— _oh_.”

Jinwoo ignores the pang in his chest at Seungyoon’s lack of enthusiasm to see him. He doesn’t let his eye contact waver. “Can we talk?”

Zico and Seungyoon eye each other, and it is clear that a sort of private communication is happening that Jinwoo isn’t privy to, and Jinwoo remembers what it was like when he and Seungyoon could communicate through mere glances. It feels like ages ago.

“I was just heading out,” Zico says finally, stepping out of the apartment and into the hall with Jinwoo, who quickly steps back to make space. “I’ll call you later, Yoon. You two play nice.” With one last parting look, he makes his way down the hall, leaving Jinwoo lingering in the doorway, alone with Seungyoon.

For a second, Jinwoo worries that Seungyoon won’t invite him in and he’ll have to say his speech to save their friendship right there in the hallway when Seungyoon finally steps back and pushes the door open.

“Come on in.”

 

 

 

Jinwoo stands awkwardly in the middle of Seungyoon’s room, the other boy choosing to sit at his desk pushed into the corner. Even with his eyes trained on Seungyoon’s face, Jinwoo can still see that the room is much bigger than the one they shared on campus, but still as cluttered. His bed is bigger, fluffier, and messier than Jinwoo was used to seeing. His instruments and songbooks still litter every nook and cranny. And from the corner, Seungyoon looks at him warily, neither of them knowing where to begin.

“I’ve been thinking about the other night,” Jinwoo starts, voice as shaky as his composure. “And I wanted to say sorry for blindsiding you. I didn’t mean to attack you like that—and I especially didn’t mean to bring Zico into this. That was unfair,” Jinwoo pauses, casting a glance at his friend. “But I meant what I said. About us being so distant.”

Walking to Seungyoon’s bookshelf, Jinwoo’s picks up an old baseball and weighs it in his hand. It was a souvenir from a game their parents had taken them to the summer they turned 14. Thumbing at the busted seams, Jinwoo smiles at the memory of warm days, skinned knees, and the feeling of softened leather wrapped around his hand. “You’re my best friend, Yoon. I don’t want to lose you.”

Picking up one of the guitars lying around his room, long ago covered with stickers and personal drawings, Seungyoon starts toying with its strings, strumming it mindlessly. It’s to cover his unease, a tick when he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. It is a comforting sight to Jinwoo, not only because Seungyoon is as nervous as he is, but because there are still intimate and familiar parts of him that Jinwoo knows and recognizes.

Seungyoon sighs, stops strumming. He gazes at where Jinwoo still stands in the middle of the room. “It really shocked me when you said that we might not be friends anymore.” He shakes his head, putting down the guitar. “It made me think about things, and, in hindsight, I suppose I took advantage of our friendship. It’s true that I wasn’t trying. So, I’m sorry too. For making you feel like you weren’t important to me. Because that isn’t it at all. You’re irreplaceable, Woo.”

Jinwoo doesn’t even try to fight the tears welling up in his eyes. It’s just like Seungyoon to know what he needs to hear. “I wasn’t exactly making a lot of effort either,” he says sheepishly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “In short, we’re both terrible friends, but we’ll do better in the future.”

Seungyoon laughs, warm and familiar, and it shakes Jinwoo of his nerves. “So what, are we supposed to hug it out or something?” Seungyoon grins at him, arms open.

Jinwoo looks at him, remembering the day they first met, and is overwhelmed with affection and gratitude. Their paths might take them to different places, to different encounters, lead them to other people, and that was okay. It would be difficult and not a little scary, but it would be okay. They would be okay. Because they are _Seungyoon and Jinwoo, best friends for life._

Jinwoo tosses the baseball at him. “How about a game of _Halo_ instead?

“You’re going down, Kim.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Well…there’s this guy. Maybe. I don’t know,” Jinwoo hesitates, chewing thoughtfully on a handful of popcorn.

A week after Jinwoo’s birthday, and he’s back in Seungyoon’s apartment, curled up in one of their flea-market armchairs. “I knew it!” Seungyoon smirks, shaking his head and pausing the movie.

“It certainly seems like you like him,” Seungyoon says when Jinwoo has exhausted himself retelling his sad tale. “I know how you get when you like someone, Jinwoo, and I’m telling you that you like him.”

“But it doesn’t matter!” Jinwoo whines and collapses onto Seungyoon’s carpet. “He doesn’t like me back, and I’ve already put myself out there. _Twice._ He doesn’t want anything to do with me. To him, I was just another customer.”

“I can’t believe he didn’t show up to your birthday party,” Seungyoon mumbles in disbelief. “Because it seems like he’s interested.”

“Well, he didn’t and he’s not,” Jinwoo says as picks himself off the ground in search of a pepperoni slice. “So I’m just going to forget about him. I’m not going to think about him anymore after tonight. Going to forget all about him. Him and his stupid voice and stupid myths and stupid stupid stupidness.”

“Wow, those are some fierce words, Kim Jinwoo.”

“Shut it, Kang.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

True to his word, Jinwoo doesn’t mention Seunghoon again after that night. Not to Mino. Not to Taehyun. Not to Seungyoon (and definitely not to Zico). The post-it note with Seunghoon’s operator number finds its way to the garbage and Jinwoo is surprised by how much more won he has to spend at the end of the month.

He spends more time with Mino and Taehyun, who, much to his disgust and secret delight, have become an honest-to-god _couple_ , and one of his joys is never letting them forget that it is due to him that they met and fell stupidly in love. Jinwoo also spends time with Seungyoon and Zico, attending a few shows and buying enough merchandise to make up for the guilt he harbors over missing out on so much. Sometimes, he and Seungyoon meet up for lunch or drinks or just to play video games.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s only late at night, after all his work is done and his dramas are watched, that Jinwoo pulls a copy of the _Iliad_ out from under his pillow and reads.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“So, things are good between you and Seungyoon now, right?” Mino asks haltingly a few weeks after Jinwoo's birthday while they’re walking back to their dorm after their classes.

“Yeah, why?” Jinwoo eyes him warily. It wasn’t like Mino to be this hesitant.

“And all your feelings for him are behind you?”

“We’re good. He’s happy with Zico and I’m happy for him. Unfortunately, we are not a sad love triangle,” he quips, still unsure where Mino is going with his line of inquiry.

“Okay, well then, I have something for you.” Mino pauses and fishes something out of his wallet. It’s another bar napkin, another phone number scribbled with black marker.

“Not this again,” Jinwoo smiles up at Mino, shaking his head. “I mean I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t think I’ll be calling any more numbers any time soon. Especially numbers from you. No offense.”

But Mino ignores all of Jinwoo’s teasing and presses the napkin into his hand. “Trust me, you’ll want to call this one,” he urges.

Jinwoo holds up the napkin, studies the handwriting. “Why? What is it?”

“Not what. Whose,” Mino bites his lip, gazes at Jinwoo with trepidation.

“It’s Seunghoon’s.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The story, as Mino revealed it to him, is that Seunghoon _had_ shown up at Jinwoo’s birthday. He had been delighted to hear the news, that is, until Mino let him know that Seunghoon had shown up right in time to see Jinwoo encased in Seungyoon’s loving embrace, moving outside, just the two of them. Jinwoo can only imagine what that must have looked like.

Mino had found the unknown face, gazing forlornly at the birthday boy and his best friend, and quickly put two and two together, slapping Seunghoon on the back in a warm and friendly greeting. They had made small talk, though it was mostly Mino talking, amazed and jazzed by the fact that Seunghoon _had_ actually showed up, and all anticipation for the meeting between his roommate and the infamous operator. Sadly, Seunghoon had taken in Jinwoo’s shaken appearance after his argument with Seungyoon and thought it was best to keep his distance. In a fit of desperation, Mino pressed a marker into his hand, asking for his number. But it was Taehyun who finally convinced Seunghoon, promising not to reveal that he had been there that night, nor his contact information, until Jinwoo was ready for it.

“He was into you,” Mino tried to offer without making a face. “But said it wasn't the right time.”

Jinwoo had sat on the edge of his bed facing opposite Mino and Taehyun, stunned and overwhelmed. He couldn’t even really be upset with them for withholding this information from him. His mind raced back to the night of his birthday, and Jinwoo remembered immediately the stranger who was was eyeing him the whole night. All the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

“So now you know,” Taehyun said simply, and the napkin in Jinwoo’s hands felt terrible and burdening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Days later and Jinwoo still hasn’t called the number. Call him spineless, call him weak-willed, call him reserved, but he hasn’t mustered the courage to dial the number fading on the napkin tucked into his pocket.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_And thus the Trojans buried Hector, breaker of horses._

Jinwoo closes the book with gentle, reverent fingers, the covers sighing together softly under his touch. There is a vastness in his chest, expansive and frightening, as he finishes the story Seunghoon loves so much. It is a quiet moment, just him at his desk, and yet it feels far bigger, far more important, than any Wednesday evening should permit. As his hands run along the book’s spine, brushing over embossed ridges and dipping into worn crevices, he is without defenses, stripped wholly of reserve and doubt in the wake of such a story aimed to bring out the best and worst of a human heart.

It is, in short, enough to make a romantic out of anyone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Hello?_

His heart stalls paintfully in his chest at the sound of Seunghoon’s clear voice and his grip tightens around the strings of his hoodie. “You came to my birthday party,” Jinwoo states plainly. Formalities, at this point, felt unnecessary.

“I did.”

“It was you, that guy at the bar who kept staring at me.”

Seunghoon laughs weakly. “Yes, I suppose that was me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Talk to me?”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, I just—I didn’t want—” Seunghoon cuts himself off suddenly, prompting his own inquiry with a hint of caution in his voice. “Why did you call me?”

As Jinwoo searches for words, his eyes fall on a faded cover of heroes in ancient armor. “I just finished the _Iliad_ , you know.”

“Really?” Seunghoon sounds impressed but still edgy. “What did you think?”

“I liked it. Loved it, actually.” Jinwoo takes a steadying breath, “I-I was wondering if maybe you’d want to meet for coffee and we can talk about it. Achilles and Patroclus and all the gods…if you want?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When they do finally meet at a quiet coffee shop with the kind of armchairs you just sink into, Jinwoo finds that Seunghoon is just as handsome as he remembers, possibly even more so. And he finds it so, so gratifying to be able to hear Seunghoon’s voice animated in person, to see the faces he pulls when he throws his head back and releases that tumbling laughter Jinwoo knows so well.

It is also quite nice that Seunghoon can't stop staring at him in a kind of awe, his eyes sparkling with the promise of something wonderful.

“The _Iliad_ is only half the story you know. There’s a whole second part, and it only gets better from here.” Seunghoon stares at him pointedly over his mug.

Jinwoo smiles as he sips from his cup. “You don’t say.”

 

__

fin

**Author's Note:**

> originally written for the [2015 S/S Winner Exchange](http://winnerexchange.livejournal.com/)
> 
> cross-posted at my [LJ](http://clio323.livejournal.com/23241.html)
> 
> [Hot Pink Birthday](http://clio323.livejournal.com/29642.html), a friendship hotline drabble
> 
> thank you to R for being an amazing beta :)


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